


as you shook in the middle of the night

by sinfulchihuahua0602



Series: soft jonmartin [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, The Eye, The Lonely - Entity, The Vast - Entity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfulchihuahua0602/pseuds/sinfulchihuahua0602
Summary: Martin has nightmares and Jon can’t help but Watch them.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: soft jonmartin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081499
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	as you shook in the middle of the night

Cold. That’s what Jon feels first, standing in this dense gray fog. 

Well.  _ In  _ is the wrong word for it. He’s not… really  _ corporeal,  _ he’s more of a consciousness drifting in the fog around him, dull gray. He feels tattered around the edges from it, knows it’s the Lonely and can feel the fog curl around not-quite-him in recognition. 

He’s dreamwalking, Jon realizes, and then he doesn’t-quite-sigh. There’s no choice for him but to figure out whose nightmare this is. The Eye presses in on him, Watching him, Seeing through his eyes. Jon pushes his consciousness forward, Knowing that he’s moving even though it feels like he’s not in this dense fog. 

There’s a voice appearing, echoing across a distance. Jon doesn’t recognize it yet, but he presses forward towards it as the Eye widens, the pressure increasing. 

He’s glad that the Eye’s pressure lessens once Jon knows, because he freezes as soon as he recognizes the voice, shock stunning him into stillness. 

Martin. This is  _ Martin’s  _ nightmare, Martin who he’d fallen asleep with just a few hours ago, Martin who- who hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks. 

He has to get back, he has to wake up-

**_But don’t you want to know what Martin dreams about, Archivist?_ ** the Eye whispers, pressing in on his thoughts, forming them into curiosity and the deep thirst for knowledge, smothering all his resistance. 

**_No. I don’t._ **

**_You do. I don’t._ **

**_Y o u d o._ **

Jon turns his consciousness forwards to where Martin’s voice echoes. 

He has to know. 

He can feel a sort of delight spread through his not-form, feel the Lonely fog curl tighter around him, stir in anticipation to feed the Eye.  **_What does he_ ** _ dream  _ **_about, Archivist?_ ** echoes in his head.  **_Don’t you want to know all his thoughts and fears? You have to know._ **

**_You have to know, Archivist._ **

Jon curses the Eye, curses his service even as he feels his thoughts get smothered underneath the Eye’s pressure, feels that overwhelming curiosity. The last thing he thinks is  _ Martin  _ before he feels the Eye open inside him, and Jonathan Sims is gone. 

The Archivist enjoys hearing the echo in Martin’s voice as he calls out. He’s lonely, so lonely - this is what he fears. The Lonely curling around them responds to the Archivist’s delight, twirling and weaving in the air, forming a cloud that the Archivist knows Martin can barely see in front of his face in - they, however, can see perfectly fine. There’s people there, of course - just out of reach, drifting just out of Martin’s view. They can see Martin call out their names, having sensed their presence, but they don’t respond, and Martin can’t see enough to find them. 

Jonathan Sims screams from behind the wall. The Archivist ignores him, and drifts closer to Martin Blackwood. 

“Jon,” Martin calls.  _ He’s here,  _ the Archivist thinks, as Jonathan Sims pounds against the barrier, trying to come back to himself. The Archivist pushes him back down, focuses on the fear radiating from Martin. 

“Jon? Melanie? ...Basira?”

Martin takes a few steps forward, glancing around, hands fidgeting. The Archivist Watches, eyes glowing green as they feed on the Lonely curling in thick waves around him. “I don’t- oh, I don’t know where I am. Where are you? Hm… who’s you? Why do I know a ‘you’? What’s your name?”

Martin pauses. “This place is strange… wait, you- you’re- Jon! I know, I know Jon, and Melanie, and my mother- oh, but something happened there, something- she liked me, didn’t she? I can’t quite remember… to be honest, I don’t really… remember… where I am. Or who you are. If there is a you, I can’t see anything. Come out, please?”

The Archivist listens to Martin’s questions for a few minutes longer, the endless loop of forgetting. Sometimes he gets close enough to call out specific names for a few minutes, recalls enough to feel scared and lost when no one responds. The Archivist knows that Martin from consciousness knows what’s happening, can only watch and be trapped inside himself as he forgets and remembers and can’t see anything or hear anyone. He’s Lonely. 

And then the floor drops out from the Archivist, the Lonely vanishes, and Jon’s falling, falling through endless blue sky with wisps of clouds scattered through it. 

_ Martin,  _ he thinks first, as he returns to himself from the burning intensity of the Archivist’s curiosity. This is Martin’s nightmare, he remembers, and he’d just- oh, he’d just  _ fed _ on it, fed on his fear of the Lonely. He feels full, too, in his not-self, the Archivist sitting inside him like a sated cat. 

Except now the Archivist is stirring again, taking in their new surroundings, falling through the endless blue sky. The Vast, they provide Jon, and he spins his consciousness in the space, searching. He travels much faster here, without the lethargy and the slow drift of the Lonely, and he gets almost dizzy as his consciousness brushes right through Martin as he falls and he spins wildly before righting himself. 

**_Oh, he dreams about the Vast,_ ** the Archivist says. Jon wishes he could help Martin, hearing his screams and calls for help as he falls. It shouldn’t last long, being the Vast - it feeds on that moment of vertigo, just as you start falling and then you wake up, uncertain for a brief moment if you’re still falling or not. 

Jon can feel the Archivist’s delight anyway, can feel the Eye’s pressure on him. If this goes on any longer, the Eye will take control, will demand full view. Jon can feel it pressing harder already, feels the Archivist pressing closer-

He doesn’t-quite-hit hard, cold stone floors, and then he’s seeing Martin and- 

And himself. 

“ **What happened, Martin?** ” 

No, no- that’s the Archivist. Jon can see the green flash in their eyes as they take a step towards Martin, can see the faint halo of green eyes that are open wide and staring at Martin. 

Martin makes a strangled noise. The room clicks with the noise of a tape recorder being turned on, and the low hum fills the room. 

**“Statement of Martin Blackwood,”** the Archivist starts, their mouth tilting into a smile. 

“N-no,” Martin bites out, and makes another strangled noise. His hands fly to his throat, clutching at it, staring at the Archivist. 

Jon realizes Martin’s having a nightmare about  _ him.  _ Him, because Martin doesn’t know that Jon loses himself as the Archivist. It’s still  _ him,  _ in his core, but the Archivist is the one looking and asking questions and controlling himself. Martin doesn’t know that, he just- he just thinks it’s Jon. 

Jon takes a not-step back, an involuntary noise whimpering in the back of his not-throat. He didn’t- he never thought that he had… 

It hadn’t been  _ that  _ bad, surely? He always- he always tried to be considerate… once he knew what he was, he tried not to- not to ask questions like that, and…

But of course it was. Nothing Jon could do would stop the Fears. He knew that firsthand. 

The Archivist watches Martin’s struggle. “ **Original statement given… now,”** they command.  **“Statement recorded by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”**

Martin doubles over as he clutches his throat, making more choked noises, and then Jon watches as he gasps. “I- I’m sorry,” he breathes out, and takes several moments to catch his breath. He straightens, and there’s a calm in his voice when he speaks next, a sort of fluctuated emotion and easy cadence that Jon knows all too well. “I really needed- well, I needed a job. Badly. And that was part of the reason why I-“

Jon sits up in bed. It’s dark, the only light coming from a salt lamp on the bed. He wakes with a sharp gasp, and then his eyes flick over to Martin, laying beside him in the bed. 

His brows are furrowed, his hand twitching from where it lay beside him. There’s a quiet whimper that escapes, and then his head snaps to one side. 

Jon reaches out to wake him, and then he hesitates. 

_ “N-no.” _

His hand hovers above Martin’s chest. He… he has no choice. It’s either Martin’s nightmare, or… his nightmare while awake. They’re both of Jon, after all. 

Jon forces down the tears welling up and touches Martin, shaking his shoulder. 

It takes what feels like an eternity for Martin to wake up with a sharp gasp, sitting up. His hands fly to his throat, and Jon yanks his hand back, making sure Martin can’t see him directly. He pushes down the tears further, straightening his face into concern, making sure his problems aren’t the focus right now. 

Martin’s breathing slowly calms, and he drops his hands from his throat. Jon pretends not to see that, and just gives a sad smile when Martin looks at him. “You were having a nightmare,” he explains bluntly. 

Martin nods, running a hand through his hair and looking down at the sheets. “Yeah. I-I vaguely remember it… don’t really want to, though.”

Jon hesitates, making sure he isn’t touching Martin. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

Martin gives a long sigh. “No. Not really,” he breathes, sounding tired. He rubs his face with his hand. “God, I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks. I forgot…”

He trails off, ending the sentence with a quiet groan. Jon sits silently, hands in his lap, legs folded away from Martin. He wants to touch, wants to hug and cling, but he can’t. He’s part of Martin’s nightmare. Martin doesn’t need him right now. 

The Archivist is doing something akin to purring inside him, exactly like a smug, sated cat. The Eye knows Jon fights against it, and it and the Archivist both take pride in their victories. Especially when they know Jon enjoys it too, at some level, as much as he resents it. It’s his health, after all. 

Jon ignores the Archivist, ignores the Eye’s quiet hum in his brain, like a door waiting to be opened, and simply waits, silent. 

Martin sighs, and then looks up at Jon. “Can you turn on the light, please?”

Jon turns around and flicks the lamp on. He can’t bring himself to speak, feeling a different kind of pressure against his eyes, against his throat. There’s a sob caught in his throat, now, and tears he’s losing the battle against, and Martin is the focus right now,  _ not him- _

**_“Statement of Martin Blackwood.”_ **

_ “N-no…” _

Martin starts speaking on his own. Jon thinks it feels like a statement, but he can’t bring himself to tell Martin to stop. 

“It wasn’t really that bad… now I feel fine, to be honest,” he says. “Always the worst when I’m  _ in  _ the nightmare, but once I’m out… it’s not terrible.”

Martin looks up at Jon, lips tilting into a small smile. “At least…” he hesitates. The sob climbs its way further up Jon’s throat. “...at least I have you, when I’m awake.”

Jon should speak, should comfort Martin, shouldn’t bring attention to his own trauma. He does that often enough, and Martin spends a lot of his time dealing with it. He’s the only one Jon trusts  _ to  _ deal with it. 

He can’t speak, can’t bring himself to do anything but nod mutely and force the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards. Martin frowns. 

Jon shakes his head, but Martin frowns further. “Jon?”

Another shake of his head, and then Martin turns to face Jon fully. He brings his hand up to Jon’s cheek and Jon can’t stop his own hand flying up to cling to his wrist, holding it there, eyes wide and scared and desperate. 

“Jon, what’s wrong?”

Jon feels a tear slip free. “I was-“ he stops, shoves down the rising sob. “I was  _ in  _ the nightmare, Martin. W-Watching it. I- you- the A-Archivist was- was there, and you- you-“

Martin gives a quiet gasp. “Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, oh no, Jon.”

Jon curls into Martin as he pulls him closer, folding his legs up and burying his face in Martin’s shirt. “You h-have nightmares about me?” he asks, barely holding back more tears. 

Martin doesn’t respond, like he’s considering his words. Jon waits, willing himself not to tremble. 

Martin takes a breath. “I have nightmares... about the Archivist,” he says slowly. “Not you. You’re Jonathan Sims, who I love. And maybe- yeah, the Archivist is part of you, but they’re also…”

He stops, considering again. “They’re not. You and the Archivist seem… different, somehow. I can’t explain it. But I don’t have nightmares about you, Jon.”

Jon pulls back. “The Archivist  _ is  _ me, Martin. I serve the Eye. We’re the same person.”

Martin hesitates, thinking about his words and how to explain it, and then he looks at Jon. “Back before the apocalypse, when that woman came to me and told me about how you’d forced her to give a statement, and then we learned that you’d taken four other statements too… you didn’t do that because you enjoyed it, did you?”

Jon shakes his head. “I had to. The Eye made me and… I was hungry. And I needed it.”

Martin nods. “Exactly.”

Jon looks down. “But I enjoyed it while doing it. It felt good. Made me feel better, and I always wanted it, in a sense.”

Martin shakes his head. “No, the  _ Eye  _ wanted it. You were following its needs, and you still are. I’m not going to blame you for being unable to resist an eldritch god of fear _ ,  _ Jon.”

He smiles a little. “Besides, the Jonathan Sims I know is good. The Archivist is a different part of you.”

Jon frowns. “It’s not so simple…”

Martin sighs. “No, it’s not so simple. But the point is, I don’t have nightmares about you, and I don’t hate you. I am scared of something that  _ looks  _ like you, and  _ acts  _ like you, but not  _ you.” _

Jon considers. He still doesn’t think that he’s all that different from the Archivist - when he’s not resisting them, the lines between him and the Archivist are blurred almost so he can’t see them. The Eye is a quiet hum behind a slightly ajar door, and he feels no pressure from either of them, as much himself as they are already. 

And he may be a bad person for not explaining fully to Martin, for not making him see somehow that he and the Eye are not two different things, that he is the Archivist as much as the Archivist is him, and sometimes the Eye doesn’t need to press all that hard for Jon to do what it wants because he enjoys it too in that deep part of him. But… he wants Martin, he wants to believe Martin isn’t afraid of him and that he can stay with him. 

No matter how much the Eye whispers and hisses in the back of his mind the truth. 

“Alright,” he concedes, finally. Martin tightens his arms around him as he buries his face back in his shirt and leans against him, curled up in his lap. “Alright,” he breathes out, softer. 

Martin reaches up and tangles his fingers gently in Jon’s hair, scratching lightly at the scalp. Jon exhales quietly, his entire body going pliant. 

“Okay, Jon,” he says softly, giving a sigh. “Okay.”


End file.
